We're strangers. We've never met. But I know some things about you.
I know you're attending an office training seminar, of which I'm the instructor. I know you clearly didn't want to come here this morning, judging by your body language when you entered the room. And I know you're unmarried, from the lack of a ring on your finger.
However, there's something else I know as well.
I know you're a bad girl.
I can tell by the way you look at me. The way you smile when you catch my eye. The way you steal glances at my cock through my pants. Good girls don't look at strange men's cocks, or imagine what those cocks look like. Or imagine what they would feel like in their hands.
So yes, I see you looking. And I'm not a good boy either, because my eyes have been wandering to the breasts filling your conservative top. I'm thinking too. About what those big soft tits would feel like in my hands. What your nipples look like and how they'd feel in my mouth.
And I wonder. Are you really a bad girl? We just might find out.
There's an hour break for lunch once I'm done speaking. Would you leave the group with me and duck into an empty office down the hall? Good girls don't sneak off to empty offices with a man they just met. Only bad little girls do that. So would you?
And after I locked the door behind us, would you moan as I kissed you, full of passion? Would you grind yourself on my leg, full of need?
Good girls definitely wouldn't do that.
When I slid up your top along with your bra, to get at your succulent breasts, would you smile and hold them up for me to suck? As I sucked on your tiny erect nipples, would you stroke my hardening cock through my pants? Good girls certainly wouldn't do that.